


You Probably Think This Song Is About You

by gutsforgarters



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, First Kiss, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19835923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsforgarters/pseuds/gutsforgarters
Summary: Seth’s life has takenso manybizarre turns over the last couple of years, but an earnest teenager asking him if he’s mad at her because she wasn’t acting jealousenoughstill manages to crack his Top Ten List of What the Fuck Is This Shit.





	You Probably Think This Song Is About You

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous prompt on tumblr. Title from "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon. And now it's going to be stuck in your head, too.

The girl behind the counter is distractingly hot even when you factor in the ugly Hawaiian shirt that Big Kahuna forces on its employees, all pouty red lips and sultry blue eyes. Those eyes are crawling all over Seth like _he’s_ an item on the menu, and he might be inclined to reciprocate if Kate wasn’t standing right. Fucking. _There_.

But Kate _is_ standing right there, so Seth pastes on an impersonal smile and resolves to get this over with as quickly as possible. “Yeah, so, could I get a pineapple burger with sweet potato fries and a large Coke? Actually, double all that, would you? And bundle up the second meal to go?” Just because Richie’s on a primarily liquid diet these days doesn’t mean that he won’t bitch if Seth forgets to bring him a burger. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Ah, fuck. The _sweetheart_ just kind of slipped out, because that’s just the way Seth talks. He didn’t mean anything by it; it’s just his way of being sociable. This poor girl is probably used to strange, creepy men calling her sweetheart day in and day out, anyway. She probably won’t make anything of it.

Except, going by the way she flushes pink and starts fiddling with the end of her sleek ponytail, she _is_ making something of it. Shit.

“Sure,” the girl says, manicured fingers flying across the register’s touchscreen as she inputs Seth’s order. “What about you, hon?”

Kate’s arm brushes Seth’s as she shifts closer to the counter, and just like that, it’s as if the Big Kahuna girl never even existed. “Could I have the same thing, except with a small Coke? Thanks.” Kate always orders smalls, and Seth and Richie always make fun of her for her tiny bladder, to which she unfailingly retorts that it’s not like she can pull over by the side of the road and whip it out if she suddenly has to pee during a long car ride. Which, fair point.

Speaking of Richie. Seth nudges Kate and says, “Don’t forget the horchata, babe.” They’ll never hear the end of it if they don’t bring Richie a cup of his stupid rice milk.

Kate smiles at him, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Right. And a horchata, please.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” Something in the cashier’s voice compels Seth to tear his eyes away from Kate’s face. The girl’s still smiling, but now her smile is directed at Kate, and there’s an apologetic edge to it. 

Oh. Huh.

“Is there anything else I can get for you today?” the cashier asks, very carefully not looking at Seth like she’s trying to make up for the perceived slight of accidentally encroaching on Kate’s territory.

Emphasis on _perceived_ , because, much to Seth’s relentless dismay, there’s no actual _territory_ onto which this woman, or any woman, can encroach.

“No, thank you—wait, Seth, was there anything else you wanted?”

Nothing he can have. “Nah, princess, I’m good.” Seth slides his wallet out of his pocket and pays the girl behind the counter in cash—her touch doesn’t linger when she accepts the money and returns his change—and Kate grabs their paper cups and heads off to the soda fountain, gauzy skirt pouring down the curve of her ass like a waterfall and flirting with the backs of her knees.

“She’s really pretty,” the hot cashier tells him, still smiling in that apologetic kind of way. Seth notices belatedly that her nametag reads _Samantha_. “How long’ve you been together?” 

“Uh. Two years.” One and a half if you factor out the sixth months Kate was possessed by Amaru. But also, you know. Not in the way Samantha the Hot Cashier seems to _think_ they’re together.

Is he that fucking obvious?

“Really? Well, congrats.” And she even seems to mean it, albeit in a slightly rueful way.

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” Seth sticks his loose change in his pocket and turns away with an awkward parting smile, scanning the restaurant for Kate and finding her sequestered in a booth by a bank of windows, hands folded demurely in her lap, face turned towards the sunlight that filters in through the grimy pane of glass.

“Hey.” Seth slides onto the bench across from Kate, knees jostling hers as he settles in, and she turns on him with a smile that reminds him of why he didn’t even think about looking at Samantha with any real intent. “Sorry about that.”

Kate pinches her paper straw between her thumb and forefinger and takes a sip of Coke, and Seth tries not to stare too obviously at the lush pucker of her mouth. “Sorry about what?” she asks without any trace of guile.

Seth wants to backpedal, but he can’t think up a convincing feint. He’s usually better at improvisation than this. “I mean, you know, that girl back there came on a little strong, I guess, so I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. Or whatever.”

Kate licks a droplet of soda off her bottom lip, and Seth’s hands clench into fists where they rest on his thighs. Frowning, she says, “I wouldn’t say that she came on _strong_. I didn’t even notice that she was flirting with you until she started fiddling with her hair.”

Ouch. “Huh. Really? Guess I was imagining shit.” 

Kate smiles a little. “Nah, I don’t think so. I think she really liked you.” 

Kate says this with no trace of jealousy or insecurity in her voice, which. How messed up is it that Seth _wants_ to hear something like that? He damn well knows that jealousy is one of the shittiest feelings in the entire world, so why the hell would he wish that fuckery on someone he cares about?

Oh, right. Because he’s a fucking bastard.

Samantha calls the fake name Seth gave her, and when he goes over to the counter to pick up his food, part of him wants to tell her that he and Kate aren’t what she thinks they are out of sheer spite. That same part of him wants to slip her his number so they can go out for drinks after she’s finished her shift. But that part of him, while very loud and very pissed off, is a lot smaller than the part of him that’s got full-on heart eyes for Kate fucking Fuller. 

So he accepts the tray of food with the same impersonal smile he put on earlier and carries it back to Kate, wondering to himself if you can call yourself pussy whipped when you’re not actually getting any pussy.

Sounds like something he should get a second opinion on. Maybe he’ll ask Richie later. He’s sure to catch hell for it, but the relentless mocking might be worth the impartial answer.

But then Kate smiles in that way that’s just for him, accepting her food with a quiet thanks, and Seth abruptly stops caring. Who gives a shit if he’s pussy whipped without the pussy? He’d give Kate anything she wanted in the entire fucking world so long as she kept looking at him like _that_.

Seth bites off the end of a sweet potato fry and traces Kate’s throat and collarbones with his eyes. She’s wearing this dark green camisole thing that’s edged with scalloped lace, and the neckline’s deep enough to expose the upper curves of her breasts. And maybe Seth can’t give her literally _anything_ she wants, but a fourteen-carat diamond necklace might be a good start. It’d look nice, draped across her breasts. A white velvet backdrop couldn’t hope to compete with that shit.

And then Kate steals one of Seth’s fries, and he swats at her, saying, “Hey, you got plenty of your own. Keep your grubby little mitts off of mine.”

Kate wrinkles her nose when she giggles. It’s ridiculous, and ridiculously adorable.

Lunch goes by without further incident, and it’s not until they’re walking through the muggy parking lot that Kate says, “Is something bothering you?”

Yeah, no. Whatever she’s leading up to, Seth’s not in the mood. So, falling back on his standard defense of being an annoying smartass, Seth says, “Kind of have to take a piss. You mind waiting out here while I go back inside and drain my lizard?”

“Gross,” says Kate, just like he knew she would. She opens the GTO’s back door and sets the cup carrier and takeout bag down on the seat, but she doesn’t climb in after them. She clips the door shut and turns to face Seth with her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

Not a good sign, but at least her hands aren’t on her hips. When Kate puts her hands on her hips, that’s how Seth knows he’s knee deep in some serious shit.

“Are you, like. _Bothered_ that I’m not mad about that cashier flirting with you?”

Seth’s life has taken, Jesus, _so many_ bizarre turns over the last couple of years, but an earnest teenager asking him if he’s mad at her because she wasn’t acting jealous _enough_ still manages to crack his Top Ten List of What the Fuck Is This Shit.

Kate seems to grow unsure in the face of Seth’s stunned silence, chewing on her bottom lip and fiddling with the ends of her hair (but not the flirty kind of fiddling, because Seth isn’t and never has been that lucky). “I mean, I don’t think I really have the _right_ to be jealous, do you? It’s not like we’re, you know.”

“No, I don’t fucking know.” Seth sounds a little angry. He doesn’t even know who he’s angry at: himself or Kate or Samantha for inadvertently starting all of this. “Enlighten me.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Kate tells him, and yeah. She’d better not hold her breath over _that_ one. “You know what I mean. It’s not like we’re dating. Or—or—”

“Fucking?” Seth guesses, the spite he felt earlier coming back in full force. He watches Kate flush beet red with a mean kind of satisfaction. 

Point for him. Not that he’s keeping score or anything.

“Don’t be such a—ugh. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” And Kate skirts around him like she’s gonna circle the hood and slam her way into the passenger seat, but, no. You know what? Seth’s not done with her.

So, perfectly aware that he’ll get the cops called on his ass if anyone inside the restaurant happens to look outside the window and in their direction, Seth grabs Kate by her soft waist, plops her down on the GTO’s hood, and cages her in with his arms, hands braced on the searing-hot metal.

“What exactly are you trying to say here, princess?” Their faces are so close together that Seth can taste the soda on Kate’s breath, can feel the burn of carbonation in his nostrils. He could probably count her fucking eyelashes if he was so inclined. “Are you saying that you think you _should_ have the right to be jealous? Is that it?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

 _Words_ aren’t what Seth wants to put in her mouth, but he’s not stupid enough to say _that_ shit out loud. “Then tell me what you _did_ mean.”

“I _said_ what I meant. I just wanted to know what _your_ problem was. If I acted jealous over something stupid like that, you would’ve thought I was being clingy, but because I _didn’t_ get jealous, you’re pissed? You’re _twisted_ , Seth.”

Her breath gets faster as she talks, which makes her chest go up and down. Seth drags his eyes away from Kate’s cleavage that should be decorated with diamonds, detours at her mouth, and finally, finally, meets her glare. 

Fuck, this is unaccountably _hot_. He’s got her boxed in on the GTO’s hood, hovering over her, practically _pinning_ her, and she’s pissed as hell at him, and all he can think about is what he’d like to do if they weren’t in public. And what he’d _like_ to do is slip her panties down her curvy legs, bunch her skirt up around her waist, and christen this car with a round of sloppy orgasms.

“I’ll show you twisted,” Seth tells her, but he smiles as he says it, some of his anger draining away. No. Not draining. Refining and reshaping itself into something else, into a different kind of burn, sharp and almost painful like the metal scorching into his palms. His heart’s pounding so hard he can feel it beating in his fucking ears.

Kate purses her lips, but in that way that says she’s trying not to smile. She straightens Seth’s tie, then skims her nails down the front of it, scratching his skin through layers of fabric. His eyelids flutter. His mouth wants to shape the word _fuck_ , and it also wants to make _Kate’s_ mouth say the word _fuck_.

“You know what,” says Kate, “I don’t think I even _need_ to be jealous, anyway.”

“You don’t?” _Don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner._ “And why’s that?”

Kate tugs on Seth’s lapels. She’s a total squirt, half his size and half his weight, and she can’t move him anywhere he doesn’t want to go, but he still lets himself sway in her grip. She meets his eyes, and what he sees in hers grabs him by the throat and the heart and the dick.

“Because,” she says, and her voice is shaking in the way Seth’s probably would if he could work up the strength to talk, “you never look at anyone else the way you’re looking at me right now.”

Alright.

That’s it.

He can only take so much.

Because, the thing is, Kate’s mouth is right there, slicked up with gloss the color of blood fresh from a wound, and it’s just open enough that Seth can see the inner rim of her lower lip, wet and pink the way Seth imagines other parts of her would be wet and pink. And he can’t taste those parts of her, not in a parking lot in the middle of the fucking day with fucking mosquitos buzzing around and trying to land on his fucking neck every few seconds, and he definitely can’t do it before she’s ready. He can’t do that, but he can do this: he can angle his head so their noses aren’t on a collision course and he can pull that wet bottom lip between his teeth the way he’s been wanting to since their first month alone in Mexico.

The sound Kate makes then is pure fucking pornography. No. It’s _better_ than porn, because porn is fake as hell. Who wants a rehearsed moan when you’ve got Kate Fuller grunting against your mouth like you just sank a knife into her gut or a finger into her pussy?

He can’t let himself think too much about her pussy, though, no matter how impossible that may be, because, again: parking lot, broad daylight, sheltered virgin. So he distracts himself. He lets go of her bottom lip just to kiss it, and then he kisses her upper lip, and then he moves the whole of his mouth over the whole of _her_ mouth, smearing that red gloss over her chin like a bloodstain.

He peels his hands off the car’s hood and wraps them around her waist and pushes between her legs, not thrusting his hips, not grinding into her crotch, just trying to get closer. And he _gets_ that, he gets _closer_ , he gets those tits that deserve diamonds pressing into him, gets to feel how hard her nipples are despite the total lack of chill anywhere in the vicinity. And then Kate knots her fingers in his hair and hooks one leg around _his_ leg to drag the heel of her foot up the back of his calf, and, okay. Maybe Seth thrusts his hips a _little_ when she does that. It’s totally reflexive, though.

Kate grunts again when he does it, grunts and opens her mouth, and Seth’s not about to wait for an engraved invitation, so he skims his tongue gently across her tongue. Makes her chase it into his mouth, pushing back and forth with more force each time until they’re full on tongue fucking in the Big Kahuna parking lot, and Seth’s sweating through his fucking suit, and they’re nothing but wet mouths and aching jaws and groping hands. _Hands_ , Seth’s hands are feeling up Kate’s waist and his thumbs are skimming her hard nipples, and she’s pulling off his mouth with a noise like she’s been punched. 

For a second, Seth tries to chase her, thinks of laying her flat on the hood and christening the car after all, but her pupils are so big that he can’t even see any green anymore, and she’s breathing so hard it almost sounds like she’s crying, and, okay. Okay. Time out.

But then Kate smiles at him, and if he thought her smile was pretty before, that’s nothing compared to how it looks with her lips all flushed and bee stung from the pressure of _his_ fucking mouth.

“So, um. I guess I really don’t have anything to be jealous of after all, huh? I mean, if I were the jealous type. Which I’m not.”

Seth slicks his tongue over his lower lip, which is sticky from Kate’s lip gloss and her spit. He watches her watch him do it.

He palms Kate’s knee, and she jumps, but she doesn’t push him away. She doesn’t push him away then, and she _still_ doesn’t push him away when he slides his hand under her skirt, gauzy fabric on one side and silky skin on the other, skin that’s sprinkled with the downy hair that she missed when she shaved. He pushes his hand up her leg and tucks it between her thighs where she’s hot and humid, and he presses the backs of his fingers against her through her panties, her panties that are sticky like the lip gloss on his mouth. His middle finger settles in the dip of her searing-hot cunt, touching her without any real pressure.

If he doesn’t look at anyone else the way he looks at Kate, he’s pretty sure that _she_ ’s never looked at anyone else the way she’s looking at him right now.

“Nah.” He kisses her flushed cheek. Curls and uncurls the fingers between her legs, slow and teasing. “You really fucking don’t.”


End file.
